I remember laying down on her bosom, falling asleep momentaneously as she was touching my starched white collar. People were roaming back and forth in that bright, shiny, Victorian room, as if they are tied down to the walls by an invisible yet magnetic umbilical chord. The ceiling was mutating shapes & outlines and the afternoon was being compulsively dissolved like a sugar cube in hot ginger and cinnamon tea. All clocks disappeared somehow. People kept slowly dancing in a much-coordinated motion, velvet cats pulled by cotton strings and loomed black cloth, there were no words, you could only hear step after step after step, it was eerie even for a fearless narcissistic. I suddenly grabbed her hand harshly, and gradually it got colder. People stopped. The clocks went on.
Gratified - "-"